


Aggression

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M, Masturbation, No Plot/Plotless, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:42:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The line goes live, Izaya’s voice croons, 'Shizu-chan!' and Shizuo’s cigarette crushes in his fist before he’s even pulled it away from his lips." Shizuo calls Izaya with a question and loses his train of thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aggression

Shizuo thought he had braced himself for the anger. He’s angry to start, for one thing, angry that he has to call and angry that he knows the number by memory and angry that he has to express himself via a phone call instead of with the clear satisfaction of fists and metal and pain. Then the line goes live, Izaya’s voice croons, “ _Shizu_ -chan!” and Shizuo’s cigarette crushes in his fist before he’s even pulled it away from his lips.

“ _Izaya_ ,” he growls, and there’s the crackling static of laughter from the other end as Izaya’s voice veers too high for the receiver to broadcast.

“Have you been missing me in Ikebukuro?” The words are taunting, laced with unnatural affection until Shizuo has to pound his fist against his leg to keep from crushing the phone in his hand.

“You’re meddling again,” Shizuo accuses. “You said you were leaving.”

“I never said I was gone,” Izaya points out. “Last time you came to visit me, didn’t you want to see me this time?”

“I’m busy,” Shizuo grates. His throat aches from the violence of his words, the only method of expression he has at the moment. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be trying to  _talk_  to you.”

“This really just isn’t the same, is it, Shizu-chan?” There’s a sound, a rustle of fabric and the click of metal, and when Izaya speaks again it sounds like he’s shifted his hold on the phone so his mouth is closer to the receiver. “Will you come to see me next time you get angry? I’ve  _missed_  you.”

“I  _hate_  you,” Shizuo hisses, and there’s another burst of laughter, lower and darker this time.

“I hate you too,” Izaya says, the words purring in his throat like love. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” He’s half-singing, half-laughing, so Shizuo doesn’t identify the shift in his voice until he says, “I’m going to give you a scar next time I see you, cross over that first one I gave you when we first met, do you remember?”

Izaya’s murmuring, almost whispering into the phone, but that’s not what tips Shizuo off; it’s something in the pattern of his breathing, his inhales coming faster than they do even during a fight, that clicks in with the sound from earlier into a cohesive explanation.

“Are you  _jerking off_?” Shizuo demands.

Another laugh, more of an answer in itself than Izaya saying, “Of course, Shizu-chan, it’s so much better than trying to  _imagine_  your voice.”

“You’re insane,” Shizuo says. Izaya’s breathing really  _is_  coming too fast, he’s almost panting already and if that that Shizuo heard earlier was the zipper of his jeans -- “Do you always think about me?”

Shizuo can hear the grin in Izaya’s voice. “Do you  _not_  think about me?”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo grates, and he shifts his phone to pin it between his shoulder and his ear. There’s no time, not if Izaya’s as close as his breathing says he is, but he fumbles open his vest and the last few buttons on his shirt so he can keep his clothes mostly out of the way while he gets his pants open and his hand closed around himself.

“Fuck  _you_ ,” Izaya purrs, his voice turning it to a suggestion rather than an insult. “Want to join me, Shizu- _chan_? Are you going to shut your eyes and listen to my voice and pretend it’s my hand around you instead of your own?”

Shizuo opens his eyes defiantly. “I hate you.”

“You’re just mad that I started before you,” Izaya suggests. “You shouldn’t be, this way you get to listen to me coming to your voice.”

“I’m going to break your fingers the next time I see you,” Shizuo says. Izaya sighs like he’s murmuring endearments into the line, Shizuo can hear the other shift his position as he himself slides down to slouch against the back of the chair and strokes over himself so fast it’s nearly painful. “Each of ‘em, one at a time so you can’t hold that knife you like so much.”

“Maybe I’ll cut into your shoulder,” Izaya says, as if he’s considering. “Just over your collarbone, let your blood soak into your white shirt.”

Shizuo groans, bucks his hips up off the chair and harder into his hand. His hands are starting to shake. “I’ll break your nose.”

“With your own fist? How  _intimate_ ,” Izaya croons, but the purr of the words is going breathy, Shizuo can hear the way his inhales pull tight in his throat. “I’ll tie you to my bed and carve my name into your skin.”

Shizuo shudders. “I’ll break your ribs with my knee.”

Izaya whimpers, sounding young and desperate, and Shizuo has a flood of superheated awareness even as he growls, “Don’t,  _Izaya_ , don’t you  _dare_  --” But Izaya’s not listening to him any more on this than he ever has, Shizuo can hear his breathing stall out, can imagine his back arching up in anticipation just before he groans, “ _Shizu-chan_ ,” his voice breaking as he comes.

Shizuo makes an incoherent noise of protest, frustration and arousal warring for control of his voice, strokes over himself harder and faster while he listens to Izaya panting for breath. There’s a wet sound, lips on damp skin, and Shizuo groans, “Are you  _licking your fingers_ , Izaya?”

Izaya laughs around his fingers, draws them free with enough show Shizuo can hear the sound of his tongue through the receiver. “Next time I’ll lick the blood off your skin,” he purrs, and all the heat in Shizuo’s body flares into life under the friction of his fingers.

“Fuck,” he starts before Izaya’s voice cuts him off.

“I  _hate_  you, Shizu-chan,” and it’s the slide of his voice over the words and the audible affection warring with the meaning that does Shizuo in, sends him into orgasm groaning Izaya’s name while the other’s laughter echoes down the line.

Izaya speaks while Shizuo is still gasping for breath, his body still quaking with pleasure. “It’s been great talking to you as always, Shizu-chan, you should call more often.”

“Wait --” but Izaya’s still talking, utterly ignoring Shizuo’s slower protest.

“Come by next time, it’s easier to show than tell you.”

That catches Shizuo’s breath, stops him just long enough for Izaya to laugh, “See ya, Shizu-chan.”

“ _Izaya_ ,” Shizuo starts, but the line goes dead before the last of the syllables have shivered past his throat. For a minute his thoughts are stalled; then he realizes he never  _did_  get an answer out of Izaya, is dialing again even though he knows he’s going to be sent to voicemail. There’s the prerecorded purr of Izaya’s voice, sending Shizuo’s throat into a roar of irritation even before the message starts.

“ _IZAYA_ ,” he shouts, throws the phone aside without waiting for the click of the message to cut him off. When he gathers himself enough to look down it turns out he didn’t push his shirt up high enough after all, he’ll have to change into a fresh one.

He imagines he can hear Izaya’s laughter when his fist goes through the door.


End file.
